


The Journal Entry

by Attasee



Series: Suits and Umberella’s [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M, Mycroft in Love, Trains, so much research, timetravel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:15:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21792856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Attasee/pseuds/Attasee
Summary: It’s 1885 and Mycroft is on a steam train - a sort of alternative historical part three to The T-shirt and The Gloves...
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes & Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Series: Suits and Umberella’s [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1459429
Comments: 8
Kudos: 30





	The Journal Entry

**Author's Note:**

> So for the keen eyed amongst you, you may have noticed that we aren’t in Kansas anymore. It’s not the 21st Century, it’s not even the 20th Century we gone right back to the 19th and Mycroft is on a train hurtling towards Gregory. 
> 
> Note this is set before Sherlock’s appearance in actual print, Dr Watson hasn’t even appeared and Arthur Conan Doyle is still planning A Study in Pink whilst conducting dubious surgery on unsuspecting souls.
> 
> I’ve done actual research for this fic. I’ve checked train journeys, times, trains, the language but I have no doubt I’ve got it wrong somewhere and any mistakes are 100% mine.

**Thursday 26th November 1885**

**Location: London to Edinburgh**

**Departure: 10 o’clock (morning)**

**Estimated Arrival: 7 o’clock (evening)**

The weather had been foul upon my departure from Kings Cross. There was always a darkness to London at this time of the year and even from the relative dry of the station platform I could feel a dampness in the air and a chill that had me locating my leather gloves and tightening the knitted scarf around my neck before I boarded my carriage. The sun it seemed, not fully able to rise, even at such an hour, cast a long shadow over the rooftops and left one feeling like a coffin lid had been placed over the city. 

We departed at 10 o’clock as promised by the station masters whistle and by quarter past I was already thankful I had had the foresight to ask Anthea, my House Manager to book me into a double berth sleeper. The cabin was, of course generous on its own but with two healthy size bunks that would comfortably fit a man of my stature and a fine wooden desk dividing the carriage, I had been able to ‘spread out’ a little - more so than if I had company. Of course, my return journey would include Gregory but for now I enjoyed the extra legroom and the opportunity to read the morning papers and conduct any outstanding business I needed to.

The train and engine itself - I had to admit - was rather magnificent, a GNR Class 4-2-2 Stirling Single according to the literature Anthea had slipped into my briefcase (I still find her ability to anticipate my needs scary at times). I had previously very little need to travel outside of the city centre walls, so it had taken some time for Anthea to assure me this was the fastest and most pleasant way to travel north, but as I had sat with a cup of fine tea and some cake that had also magically found its way into my luggage I was rather close to championing this way of travel to those in government of the more hermit in nature. Of course, I had no illusions that Gregory travelled First Class to Edinburgh but as I raced through the green English countryside away from the dark and foggy city I had hoped he had been able to enjoy it as much as I.

As the journey was a long one with a single stop at York for lunch (a rather wonderful afternoon tea where I met a elderly gentleman who in 1830 aged 10 years old had been privileged to witness the opening of the Liverpool to Manchester train line) and then slow progress northwards via Newcastle and the border town of Berwick upon Tweed, I had planned to finalise a number of contracts and boldly work my way through the endless official documents I had asked Anthea to pack for the journey. I am ashamed to say however, that I did nothing of the sort. Instead I found myself contemplating the crossroads myself and Gregory where at. Our relationship, private as it would always be, had become much more...emotional (?) in nature. I had begun to find myself at a loss when he was not about, yearning almost at his absence. We did not yet reside together – although I had offered him a room which he refused - yet he spent more evening with myself than in his bed sit. The previous evening – nervous as I was about travelling such a distance – I had taken to sleeping with a bed shirt he had left behind. I had found it hard to settle, hard to breathe at one point. Our relationship in every sense was and is forbidden and yet… I feared I may say or do too much upon arriving in Edinburgh. I found myself feeling incensed and angry at the world at being unable to greet the man I loved in the way I wanted – no we – wanted too. Because Gregory did love me. I knew that. I had realised very early on in our association that I could at times, be the more emotional one of the two of us, more angry, more frustrated with the situation. My brother Sherlock had always said I was the more vulnerable of the three siblings and for many years he had repeatedly echoed our own fathers words – _caring is not an advantage_ – to the point where I had shut down. This, from a man who used stimulants and dreamt about solving crime! But Gregory, my Gregory, my Detective Inspector, who did fight real crime, with the silver hair and that ‘swagger’ that Shakespeare could have purely invented to describe him alone had stomped all over me in the most wonderful way possible. 

I loved him.

Wholly.

Totally.

Always.

And I needed him by my side.

By the time we had reached Berwick upon Tweed the night had begun to draw in for the day and I found the gentle rocking of the carriage a healthy companion to sleep. My eyes had closed a number of times, only finally opening fully when the attendant offered to escort me to the 1st Class Restaurant.

“Are you okay Sir?” He had asked with a northern lilt, obviously noting my confusion.

I answered after a brief pause for thought. “I am yes, a long journey but pleasant.”

“It’s a fine engine Sir, but Edinburgh itself is a sight for sore eyes.”

“Yes…. I rather think it will be,” I replied.

That evening I dined on a perfectly cooked steak, roasted potatoes and vegetables, two glasses of wine, wrote Sherlock a letter informing him of a shared lodgings I’d secured for him, that with a assistance of another gentleman would be perfect for his needs, and prepared myself for Edinburgh. We pulled into Waverley Station at 7 o’clock to the minute and with Edinburgh Castle standing proud above me, I searched the crowd for my love.

M Holmes


End file.
